


Wings (of steel)

by ireallyhatecornnuts (CharleyFoxtrot)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cas as a human, Gen, Motorcycles, Pre-slash if you squint?, s9 divergent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-09
Updated: 2015-05-09
Packaged: 2018-03-29 16:57:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3903916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharleyFoxtrot/pseuds/ireallyhatecornnuts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Dean goes back to find Castiel, he’s not there. It’s been a long time, but somehow he’s surprised that Cas is no longer working at the Gas -n- Sip.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wings (of steel)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [growleyassbutt](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=growleyassbutt).



> This was written forever ago on my tumblr and I forgot to post it here. Sorry!
> 
> Thanks to [cockteaseofthelord](http://cockteaseofthelord.tumblr.com/) for the beta.
> 
> As usual, you can find me at my tumblr, disease-danger-darkness-silence.tumblr.com.

 

_Higher than the birds I’m flying_  
_Crimson skies of ice and fire_  
_Borne on wings of steel, I have so much to feel_  
_And I won’t come down no more_

_Sail on, sail on_  
_I will rise each day to meet the dawn_  
_So high, so high_  
_I climb the mountains of the sky_  
_Without my wings, you know I’d surely die_  
_I found my freedom flying high_  
_I’ve climbed the mountains of the sky_

\--Kansas, “ _Icarus (Borne on Wings of Steel)_ ”

 

When Dean goes back to find Castiel, he’s not there. It’s been a long time -- months, almost a year, in fact -- but somehow he’s surprised that Cas is no longer working at the Gas -n- Sip.

“Steve? No, he left a few weeks ago,” the manager, Nora, says. She looks disappointed. “Not gonna lie, it’s been hard around here without him. He was a good worker, great help. Good with kids.”

“Right,” Dean said, frowning. “Any idea where he went?”

“Not a clue,” she replied. She was currently filling the coffee filter with fresh coffee grounds, so her attention wasn’t entirely on him. “Said something about ‘going east to find his family,’ because they’d fallen on hard times.”

_Dammit, Cas._

“Though, I think ever since he got that bike, he’s had a bit of um, what do they call it -- wanderlust,” Nora continued.

“Bike?”

Nora smiled. “Yeah. Actually, it’s a really sweet story. You got a few minutes?”

 

*** * * * ***

 

Castiel hunched inward as he walked along the road. The studio apartment he’d finally managed to rent was a good three miles from work, and even though it was still, ostensibly, summertime, the autumn chill was starting to fall over Idaho.

He carefully didn’t think about what he’d do when winter settled over the town he’d chosen, for the moment, to call home.

He stepped on a crunchy leaf, the sound drawing him out of his own head, and sighed. He only had another mile to work, and he contented himself thinking of the free cup of coffee he’d be able to draw comfort from once he arrived, promptly ten minutes before his shift started.

So distracted did this thought make him that he didn’t notice someone calling him by his assumed name at first. In fact, by the time he did notice it was because there was an aging pickup truck pulled up next to him, not because of the words the driver was speaking.

He blinked, and turned.

“Steve, right?” the man said. It took a few seconds, but Castiel remembered this man -- he was a regular customer at the Gas -n- Sip, and always had a kind word for those around him, despite his gruff appearance. His hair was grey and frazzled, his beard matched it well, and his face was wind-burned and ruddy; the countenance of a man who worked outdoors.

“I -- Yes. I’m sorry, I’m afraid I was lost in thought,” Castiel replied.

“You on your way to work?” the man said, gesturing at Castiel’s vest. Castiel nodded in reply. “Come on, then, I’m on my way over there for a cup of coffee, I’ll give you a ride.”

Castiel blinked. “I -- Um, yes. Thank you,” he said, jerkily reaching for the door handle. The man smiled as he climbed in, and as he pulled away from the curb he turned the heater on.

“Nippy out, huh?”

Castiel nodded again. He’d never been very good at small talk, something Dean often berated him for, but he felt he’d gained a lot of conversational skills over the last few months of being human. Still, conversating about the weather was something that still eluded him; he understood the effects the pull of the moon and sun had on Earth’s ecosystem, in a way that most humans did not, and he often found himself unable to keep himself from mentioning it.

“Winter is coming,” he said.

The man laughed. “Game of Thrones fan, huh?”

Castiel frowned. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

That just made him laugh harder.

The conversation was stilted but not uncomfortable; the man -- Bill, he said his name was -- discussed various television shows and some of the small town’s history, as well as mentioning something Castiel thought he’d need to look into called “Craigslist,” where people often gave items away or sold them for very little money. Castiel had very little money, so it seemed it was made exactly for people like him.

“Your car broke down?” Bill asked, as he pulled into the Gas -n- Sip’s parking lot.

“I don’t know how to drive,” Castiel replied, on automatic, and then he stopped. Knowing how to drive was a human skill, one he _should_ have, and he wondered if he’d perhaps said something he shouldn’t have.

Bill looked at him a little oddly, but he shrugged it off. “Eh, my late wife didn’t know how to drive either. She said the idea terrified her. Not _that_ uncommon, I guess.”

“I never had the opportunity to learn,” Castiel replied, as he began extracting himself from the safety belt. “I suppose it never came up. Plus, I don’t have the money to buy a car or keep it filled with gas, let alone register and insure it.” Finally, he was free, and he reached for the door handle.

“Huh,” Bill said. He didn’t elucidate, so Castiel left it at that.

He was considerably earlier than he’d planned on, thanks to Bill’s timely arrival, and it was a good thing, too. By the time he got his coffee and had walked to the counter, Nora had grabbed him and begged him to clock in early; some sort of football preseason thing, she said, and they were so busy she hadn’t even been able to finish the week’s schedule.

Castiel was always willing to earn more money, so he clocked in early and signed into his register, helping thin the crowd of antsy customers for his boss. He didn’t even think about Bill’s comments on driving for the rest of the evening; it was, after all, just small talk.

 

*** * * * ***

 

Castiel didn’t often work the morning shift; Nora knew he walked to work and didn’t like the idea of him walking when it was still dark out. This week an employee quit unexpectedly, though, so Nora had to schedule him to work the morning with her. He wasn’t used to getting out when the sun was still out, now that it was starting to get darker, earlier, and he blinked owlishly up at the sky as he huddled around his coffee and began preparing to walk home.

“Hey! Steve!” a familiar voice called out, and it took Castiel a few seconds to remember that that was him, and he turned. Bill, his friendly regular customer, stood in the parking lot, next to his truck, grinning fit to break his face in half.

“Oh, hello Bill,” Castiel said, walking toward him. “You’re doing well, I presume?”

“Oh, yeah,” Bill said, nodding. He was still grinning, and he slapped the side of his truck. “Check her out, someone gave her to me in trade for a trailer on Craigslist.”

Castiel looked at what Bill was pointing toward; an old, beat-up (but presumably still functional; Bill had gone on at length about making sure you didn’t buy “junk” off of Craigslist) dirt bike. Castiel knew very little about automobiles, but he knew enough to know that this bike would never travel on the roads legally. There were no turn signals, no rear-view mirrors, and the seat was half-falling apart at the back.

“It’s very...nice,” he said. Bill threw his head back and laughed.

“Naw, it’s a piece of shit, but it runs. It’s a good learner bike, you know?”

Castiel didn’t know, but he nodded anyway; his confusion must have shown on his face, because Bill clapped him on the shoulder.

“I ain’t got any cars to teach you on, but boy, I’m gonna teach you how to ride a motorcycle.”

 

*** * * * ***

 

Castiel had been rather leery of learning how to ride a motorcycle; the balance issues alone almost terrified him. After all, he was mortal now.

But Bill insisted; they had all winter, he said, and the old, empty Wal-Mart parking lot was perfect, because they plowed it every time it snowed even though there wasn’t a store. By springtime, he assured Castiel, he’d have taught him how to ride a motorcycle.

Also, Bill said, at “Steve’s” age, his insurance would be negligible, and motorcycles were much more fuel efficient than a car.

Still, more times than Castiel was comfortable admitting, he wound up almost crashing into something. It was almost regular routine, at this point, for him to try to convince Bill to give up on him.

“I don’t think I have the talent,” Castiel said, one day, almost mournful.

“Sure you do,” Bill reassured him. “We all gotta crawl before we can run, boy.” The way he said it almost reminded Castiel of Bobby Singer, and he smiled despite himself.

Incrementally, he got better, learning the method of switching gears while traveling and how to maintain his precarious balance. By the time March came around, and with it the spring thaw, Castiel was actually pretty proud of his level of skill. Driving a motorcycle was the closest he’d ever come to flying again, he thought; he loved the feeling of wind on his face and blowing through his hair (although it was often cold, and as he learned to go faster, Bill made him put a helmet on).

With Nora and Bill prodding him, he took the drivers’ test the next available day he had off. Bill drove him to the DMV and congratulated him when he walked out, ID card in hand. Castiel had been somewhat worried that the documents he’d obtained with his false name wouldn’t hold up to scrutiny, but no one even bothered to check whether his birth certificate or social security card was real.

“There you go, son,” Bill said, clapping him on the shoulder and grinning. “Real proud of ya.”

Castiel smiled. It felt good, he found, to have people who believed in him.

 

*** * * * ***

 

Still, Castiel didn’t have the budget for a bike of his own, and for weeks he continued plodding to work on foot.

Nora, kind-hearted as she was, helped him that very afternoon with the application for SNAP benefits. She’d been horrified to learn that the majority of his food intake was the expired food from the grill station; even though she’d given him, “her best employee,” the maximum raise she was allowed by corporate policy, he couldn’t seem to budget enough for a place to live, his bills, _and_ food. Castiel simply hadn’t known that help was available; Nora, being a single mother, knew the ins and outs of the welfare system, despite having weaned herself off of it months ago.

“It’s there to help, Steve,” she said, putting her hand on his shoulder. Her face was sympathetic.

It took him a while to understand how he was expected to fill out the application, but with Nora’s aide, within a few days of filling it out and turning it in at the welfare office, Castiel had a brand-new EBT card in his hand. He didn’t get much -- this, Nora told him, was because he was a single man without children -- but it relaxed his budget considerably.

A month after he received his motorcycle license, Bill walked in. He didn’t look very well, and Castiel inquired as to his health as he rang up his order -- a large coffee, with two creams and no sugar. Castiel had paid attention.

“‘m fine, son,” Bill said, smiling kindly. “Got ya something on trade.”

“What’d you trade?” Castiel asked, raising his eyebrow.

“Ah, that old dirt bike I taught you on. No use for it now, right? Come check it out.”

Bewildered, Castiel followed Bill out into the parking lot. There, strapped into the back of Bill’s truck, was a street-legal motorcycle, older and somewhat busted, but in working order.

“It’s a Suzuki DR750, from 1988,” Bill said, smiling. “Needed a little work but it’s all taken care of. Body’s a piece, but she runs real sweet.” His smile dropped a little. “I was hopin’ to get you somethin’ blue or black, those are more your colors, but the red was all I could find.”

“It’s wonderful,” Castiel said. He was suffused with some emotion, it clogged his throat and before he could really stop to wonder about it, tears were falling from his eyes.

“Aw, come on now, son, don’t make this any more emotional than it needs to be,” Bill said, uncomfortable but happy. “I’m doin’ you a good turn cuz you’re always nice to everyone, even the ones who don’t deserve it so much, and you’ll do someone else a good turn in kind, you hear?”

“I hear,” Castiel said, nodding. After arranging with Nora to take his break, he helped Bill unload the bike from his truck, and parked it in one of the parking spaces. Bill handed him the keys and a matching helmet, accepted his thanks, and drifted inside to get another coffee.

Castiel stared at the bike for several minutes in awe, clutching the keys in his hand until they bit into his palm, before turning to go back inside. Nora was smiling at him from the counter; Bill nodded at Cas as he exited.

“Bill told me what he did for you,” Nora said, smiling. “That’s really nice of him.”

“I don’t..I don’t really know how to thank him,” Castiel replied. He was still stunned.

“You’ll figure something out,” Nora said. She then led him to the office, where she helped him buy insurance online -- now that he had his food situation under control, he had a small amount of disposable income, which he supposed would now go toward bike maintenance.

The next day he drove the motorcycle to the DMV and registered it, and just like that, Castiel was an actual, legitimate, legal vehicle owner.

 

*** * * * ***

 

On his days off Castiel liked to travel the area on the bike. Sometimes Bill came with him on his own, a Guzzi California 1400 Touring motorcycle in black and chrome that reminded Castiel so strongly of Dean’s Impala that he _ached_ sometimes. One day they stopped to get coffee at the Gas -n- Sip before heading out, and Bill caught him staring at the bike.

“You like her?” he asked, smiling. Castiel nodded, swallowing the lump of his throat under the guise of taking a sip of coffee, before he spoke.

“She reminds me of something a friend of mine drives,” he said. Then, because he happened to know it, he said: “A ‘67 Chevy Impala.”

Bill beamed. “Well, I’ll be. I didn’t know you had friends, Steve.”

“He’s...an old friend,” Castiel replied. And then: “I haven’t seen him in some time. But I have very fond memories of his car.”

Bill looked at him a little oddly at that, but he didn’t comment on it, and shortly after they were tossing their cups in the garbage and heading out to ride the highway.

 

*** * * * ***

 

Bill stopped coming to the Gas -n- Sip at the beginning of May. For a few days Castiel didn’t think much of it, going on his rides as usual despite lacking a companion, but after a week had passed he began to worry. He commented on it to Nora, in passing, and she frowned.

“Old Bill plays things close to the vest sometimes. I’m sure he’s fine, Steve,” she said, patting him on the hand.

In the meantime, Castiel opened up to her more; in the past, when questioned, he would simply say he was estranged from his family. More and more he began to tell her about how he’d wronged them, egregiously; he couldn’t go into details, and he got the idea that Nora thought he was an ex-drug addict of some sort, but it felt good to get it off his chest to someone sympathetic to his plight. Every now and then he still babysat for her, although she insisted on paying him for his time, and more often than not they sat for companionable conversations on the topic of his family before he headed home.

Eventually, he began to feel like maybe he did need to go out there and help. Maybe he needed to find the angels that followed him, the ones who went with him against Raphael; maybe he owed it to them to help save them. Maybe because his grace was the grace used to close Heaven to his brothers and sisters, he could open it again.

His last day at the store was May 20th. He did a morning shift, said goodbye to Nora, turned in his vest and nametag, and collected his final check before turning to head to the parking lot.

“Good luck, Steve,” Nora called out. “You be careful out there, okay?”

“Yes, Nora,” Castiel said, in good humor. He reached into his pocket to retrieve the keys to his bike when a tall, suited figure blocked him.

“Steve, yes?” the man said. He didn’t look very trustworthy to Castiel, but he eyeballed him anyway and nodded.

“Yes?” he asked.

“My name is James Jenkins,” he said, holding out his hand. Castiel took it and shook back firmly, despite his reservations about him. “I’m a lawyer.”

“I have no need of legal representation,” Castiel said, slowly.

“I’m sure,” the man said, smiling. “But I’m not here about that. A client of mine recently passed and he left his belongings to an assortment of people. The weirdest note in his will was for you; no last name, just ‘Steve from the Gas -n- Sip.’ Bill was an odd duck.”

Grief rose up in Castiel’s throat. “Bill’s _dead_?”

“I’m afraid so,” the lawyer said, and his consoling look didn’t look genuine at all. Still, he led Castiel out ot the parking lot, where a truck was pulling away; there, in the spot next to Castiel’s own motorcycle was Bill’s beautiful, gleaming black and chrome one. “Cancer. It happens, as you know; he’s been steadily declining in health for the last year or two. He left you his motorcycle; if you’ll sign this transfer here, it’ll all be taken care of and you can take it to the DMV to register it.”

Castiel stared at the bike and then turned toward the man. Numbly, he signed the paperwork; an official-looking transfer document and a title note were left in his hands, and he stared at the bike for several minutes before heading back inside.

Nora was looking at in him in concern. “I heard the news,” she said, her brow creasing. “Are you okay?”

“I’m -- I’ll be fine,” he said, blinking tears out of his eyes. “He gave me his motorcycle.”

“Wow,” Nora said. “That was nice of him.”

Castiel nodded, swallowing hard again, and even though he wasn’t technically an employee anymore, Nora let him sit in the office and cry for a little bit.

 

*** * * * ***

 

A few days later, Castiel had sold the red bike, registered and insured the new bike -- Which he hadn’t officially named but which Nora heard him calling ‘Baby’ several times with a smile on his face -- and left town, murmuring about finding his family.

“Damn,” Dean said, leaning backward. It’d taken a little more than ‘a few minutes’, but the story was worth it, his ears hungry for information about his wayward friend. “So he’s just _gone_?”

“Yeah,” Nora said, nodding. “I tried calling the number he used to have but it’s been disconnected, so I guess he really _is_ gone.”

“Right,” Dean said, frowning. “Well, thank you for your time. If you hear from him...let him know I was by, okay?”

“Sure,” Nora said. She glanced outside to where his car was. “ _Oh_. You must be Dean.”

“Uh,” Dean replied.

She grinned. “He used to tell me that Bill’s bike reminded him of a friend of his’ car, all shining black and chrome. His words, not mine. Seems to me your car fits the description pretty well.” Then she sighed. “I hope you find him, okay? I’m worried about him.”

“I will,” Dean said. He thanked her again and, after swinging by the motel to pick up his brother, began the long, slow drive back to Kansas. When Sam queried him about Cas, he just brushed it off and said he wasn’t there anymore.

He dropped Sam off at the front of the Bunker so he could unlock the garage and pulled around back to the entranceway; to his surprise, there stood a motorcycle.

Gleaming black and chrome, a really gorgeous piece of machinery, and Dean really could see why it made Cas think of the Impala.

Of _home_. 


End file.
